


Russia's Story One-Shot

by Yugioh_Trekkie_99



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-01
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2019-01-27 22:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12592364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yugioh_Trekkie_99/pseuds/Yugioh_Trekkie_99
Summary: So this story takes place in a post apocalyptic world where all the other nations have died and Russia is the only one left. Russia blames himself for what happened to the others, and he can never forgive himself. Warning: Character Death





	Russia's Story One-Shot

Death. It’s such a simple word. Why does it have so much bearing to it. Blood. Lots of pure crimson blood. A color that seems pleasing to the eye; perverted to be associated with death. Stained on my white scarf is the color of pure crimson blood. Why? It’s not enough that everyone dies, but I am to be reminded of my mistake everyday. The memories don’t fade. I try washing them away, but they are there. Watching me, waiting for me to feel vulnerable, wanting me to plummet into an abyss of darkness. The torture of witnessing such a traumatic event lingers with me. I can’t take it anymore. I walk through the desolate landscape and up to my now empty house. There is no one to greet me anymore; They are gone. I walk up the stairs to the bathroom. The lights haven’t been working since that day. So I walk into a dark bathroom, The smell of blood still lingers in the room. Painful memories flood back into my mind; I push them away. Finally finding what I was looking for. I take the small box and head back to my room. I sit on my cold bed. Even all of the warmest blankets in Russia can’t warm my cold body right now. It’s wracked with grief and despair that nags at my soul. I open the box. Inside the box is a metal razor blade. Sharp, clean, perfect. It would be a shame to waste such a perfectly good blade on someone like me. Oh well. It must be done. Without any hesitation I roll up the sleeve of my left arm. The cold blade presses into my skin, not piercing it though. Not yet. I feel tears starting to roll down my face. Warm, salty tears. I know that they aren’t tears of fear though. They are tears of grief and happiness. I look down at my arm. My fingers grip the razor blade, and I dig it into my skin deeper. Deeper, until I see that haunting crimson liquid. As I make the first cut I think back to my friends. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you guys. It was all my fault. If I had known the bombs were coming I would have done something. Another cut. Everyone’s gone. England, France, China, Canada. Another cut. Germany, Japan, Italy. Another cut. Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia. Another cut. Spain, Romano, Prussia, Austria, Hungary. Another cut. Ukraine and Belarus; My sisters, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t even save you two. Two more cuts. And, America, my love. I’m sorry. Another cut. I loved you more than anything, and I could even save you. Another, more deeper, cut. I’m so useless! “I deserve to die!” I yelled out in agony has I slid the razor smoothly across my porcelain skin one last time. Hot tears rolling down my face. Blood oozing down my arm, Death creeping in. My arms go limp and my body collapses. America, my love, I’ll see you soon. Then as I looked up out the window there was a small sunflower poking up out of the ground. A smile crept on my face. I closed my eyes, picturing the flower as it slowly faded away and was replaced with nothing.


End file.
